Wretched
by Ryssa1457
Summary: Robin was only lucid a little less than half the time. No one could really blame him. Not after what he'd been through; Crazy!Robin, Rated M for non-explicit rape scene, ANGST


Okay, so this is some serious angst I whipped up after being terribly depressed one day. There's a hint of Rob/Wally, but, you know... it's mainly Robin Angst.

SORRY GUYS. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANYWAY.

WARNING: Rape. But, not really all that graphic. Couldn't bring myself to do it. :/

Disclaimer: Don't own. Never will.

* * *

><p>Robin was lucid only a little less than half the time. Which was good, in Wally's opinion. It was better than him being lucid a third of the time, or a fourth of the time.<p>

But the times that Robin wasn't lucid were the times that made Wally wish that Robin was back in reality more often. Because when Robin was in his head and not with everyone else, he was screaming and crying and saying _pleasepleaseplease, no, not again, please, no, help, nonono, helpme, someone help me, anyonehelpme —. _

Wally was there for times when Robin was there and times when Robin was back with them. The times when Wally wasn't there, and sometimes when he was, Batman would arrive and talk with Robin who would either make meaningless small talk or kick and scream.

Wally couldn't really blame Robin. Awful things had happened. Wally guessed that if any of the team had been in Robin's position, they would have probably broken too. (Though Wally wasn't exactly in on all the details. None of them were. The only ones who knew were Batman and Robin. Batman wasn't forthcoming and Robin was only in touch a little less than half the time.)

Today, Robin was holding his head in his hands, and Wally was hovering at the doorframe.

(Wally was wondering if this was one of his lucid days.)

—

Robin knew he was crazy. He knew and he accept-

(NOLEAVEMEALONENOPLEASENO —)

-ed it. There wasn't anything he could do about it, not now. What he did regret was the fact that sometimes he wasn't all there. And he should be. Nothing should affect the son of Batman, bred and trained to be-

(DON'THURTMEI'LLDOWHATEVERYOUWANT—)

-collected at all times. But sometimes he lost his-

(HELPMEBRUCEHELPMESOMEONE—)

-place in the day.

"Hey, Rob, can I come in?"

—

Wally remembered the day Robin disappeared. He remembered it because Robin had come into the living room of Mount Justice and was fidgeting. It had reminded him of himself so he'd been really curious, because Robin was just so_ there_ all the time.

"Hey, dude, do you wanna go out to eat sometime?"

"Like... we usually do?" Wally asked carefully. "Or. Like... a date?"

Robin had shifted his weight from his right foot to his left. "Like a..." He swallowed and then set his jaw. "Like a date. Yeah. If you want."

And Wally had felt his heart swell (which he hoped wasn't a bad thing) and had nodded and said that yes, he'd like to go on a date. Robin's face lit up and he almost looked thirteen again (which made Wally feel a little bit creepy).

"Awesome. Thursday then?" Because it had been a Tuesday.

"Yeah."

Then Robin went back to Gotham. And while wandering Gotham before heading back to Wayne Manor, Robin had disappeared.

He'd stayed gone for nine days.

—

Wally sat on Robin's bed and looked him up and down, taking in the white outfit like he always did. Robin got to stay in his room at the Manor, but all the furniture was bolted. And all his clothes were white. His bedspread and other such things were dark colors, but his closet was locked, so if he happened to get blood on his clothes, he couldn't change them, and he would get caught.

But he got to keep his room, which was a plus, he-

(_You little slut. You like that, don't you?_)

-supposed.

"What do you need Wally?"

"Nothing. In particular, I mean." He paused. He often paused. "I just sort of came to see you."

Robin could almost feel the gears in his head turning to get him to form a smile. All he could do was snort once to show –

(_The bone marrow's the best part, you know.)_

-he'd heard. "That's kind of you. I understand that I can be rather –"

(_Best you've ever had, right?)_

He knew he trailed off, because the words were still echoing around in his head. Wally just looked at him and Robin took a deep breath, trying to remember what he'd been saying. "I... I understand that I can be... be rather difficult. To be around. Because of," he took another breath –

(_Listen to him scream. Never knew the boy was a screamer.)_

Wally reached out like he was going to touch him, but stopped, as if he saw the fear building behind his eyes. "It's okay. It's okay. I like coming to see you."

Robin's mouth almost formed a wry smile, but he didn't have the energy. What Wally meant was that he liked coming to see Robin when he was lucid. Robin couldn't blame him –

(_Look at him cry. Never seen tears so pretty.)_

Then Wally was standing. How long had Robin been staring at his wall? "I'll come back tomorrow. Okay?" He was biting his lip. Robin hadn't known Wally to do that, but things changed when he wasn't looking, he supposed.

He looked up at his friend, admired the things he'd found so attractive before. If Robin had come home, if Robin had come home, _if he'd come home_ what could have happened between them...?

"Okay," Robin said. "Tomorrow."

—

Robin had stared at the wall, for no reason, for almost fifteen minutes, his previous train of thought interrupted. He reached for his comm, beeping at his belt as he left Wayne Manor via the teleporter in the basement.

"Kid Flash. What's going on?"

"Batman's got a mission for us," Kaldur's voice said in his ear. There was a pause as Wally and Kaldur disconnected as they came face to face. "How... is he?"

"He's the same," Wally said, striding forward to meet Batman in the center of the main room. All of the team lined up and waited as Batman gave them their objective. They had a day and a half tops.

Wally bit his lip, a new habit of his, probably a bad one. It would seem that he would have to wait to see Robin. He wondered if Robin would even be attentive enough to notice.

—

(Robin's dreams were just as miserable as his waking hours.)

They'd starved him first. Dehydrated him. Robin had wondered why they'd chosen him until the one with dirty hair spoke. "He was too cute to pass up guys."

That was the only excuse he'd gotten after four days of captivity and minimal water.

Then they'd started hitting him. One of the other four guys said "make sure to avoid the face." His face, apparently, was his most wonderful quality to them.

His body, four days in, had seemed to appeal to them as well.

The one with the dirty hair had dragged a knife across his clavicle (and he'd been tied up at the time, nowhere to go). He'd licked up the blood that welled out, and Robin had felt the urge to vomit.

"I think it's time we had some fun with you. After all, that's what I picked you up for."

Robin kicked. Robin kicked and hissed like a trapped animal, because that's all that he could think to do. His brain was really hungry and his body wasn't working like it was supposed to, but he tried.

One of the others, one with blonde hair, snickered. "We've got a fighter."

Dirty Hair smiled. "Then this should be fun." And he dragged the knife down the front of his dress shirt, drawing blood and slicing the shirt open and he sucked that blood up too. Two others stood by and chuckled.

Dirty Hair drew more blood, and more still and began slicing away the Teen Wonder's pants. He wondered, because he assumed that's what panicked people did, what was this guy's thing with that stupid knife.

All he can do is scream to him to leave him alone and he bears his teeth when any of the others get too close (Ohgodohgodohgod).

And then there is pain, far too much of it and there's thrusting and clawing. It feels like he's being t_orn apart_.

One of them snorts. "Look at him cry. Never seen tears so pretty."

He hadn't realized he was crying.

"Never knew the boy was a screamer."

He hadn't realized he was screaming either. Or that he was thrashing and tugging and begging for it to stop. (Thiscannotbehappeningitcan'tbecauseifitisitfeelslikehe'slettingithowcouldthis...)

What he did remember is that he was desperately asking for help. From anyone. Anyone at all.

—

Batman called, panicked. Wally had sense enough to be honored that Batman would call him first. And then he got smacked in the face for the reason Batman was calling for.

Robin was missing. Which, Wally had thought, was impossible. The Bats didn't let anyone get by anything that he set up, and yet a sixteen-year-old boy was running around with mental trauma that even Batman, Wally suspected, didn't understand.

The mission was halted. It didn't really surprise anyone that Batman would stop a mission for his son, but everyone was sure that the League would have something to say. They often usually did.

—

Running was probably not the best idea.

But, then, Robin wasn't lucid enough to care.

It was a short run anyway. He had a destination in mind. Or the part of his mind that Robin didn't touch.

—

They searched everywhere. Wally was the only one to think to search Mount Justice. It wasn't that everyone else was dense, it was just that it was the only place on their list of possibilities that no one had volunteered for.

He opened every room and Robin was nowhere to be found.

Giving up, he figured, was probably in his future. Sighing irritably through his nose, he pushed opened the door to his room.

His processing of the scene before him occurred in a particular order: first, black words on white clothes. Second, blue eyes staring at nothing, black marker in a shaking hand. Third, who the hand belonged to.

"Batman," Wally said into his comm, "I've found him. Mount Justice."

"I'll be there in no time," Batman said into his ear, and Wally didn't doubt it.

"You know," Robin said quietly, scratching this throat, the scar upon it smiling at Wally as he took a seat next to him on the bed. "Near the end, I started enjoying it." Robin's lips formed a sneer. His eyes watered. "I guess they were right," he continued, staring at his left sleeve, baring the word 'whore.' "I guess I am a whore." He snorted.

That was some insight to Robin's torment that Wally had never had. That information made his stomach flip over and threaten to empty itself.

"Robin," Wally began. But Robin just kept on talking.

"And I wasn't the only one they'd ever gotten. Before, they'd gotten some street boys." Robin's sneer became something scarier. "But I was the cutest, they'd said. Worth keeping around a bit longer." He looked up at the ceiling, flipping the marker between his fingers. "Did you know," he said as if changing the subject, "that the bone marrow is the best part of a person?"

Wally swallowed to suppress the urge to vomit.

"But when they found out Batman had found them," Robin said, still staring at the wall, "they decided my marrow in particular wasn't worth it. I guess that means I'm lucky." He scratched his scar again.

Batman appeared in the doorway. Robin didn't look at him and Batman stood there, as if he were about to approach a painfully terrified animal. Which, Wally guessed, he was. Batman held out a hand that Robin took and guided the boy out of the bedroom, turning to cast a look of gratitude over his shoulder.

Wally was finally free enough to rush to the bathroom and throw up.

—

He got scolded. It was acceptable, the scolding. He deserved it, after all. But Bruce didn't sound angry, really. He just sounded sad. He felt bad, but didn't have the coordination to apologize.

"Goodnight Dick," Bruce said, ruffling his hair tentatively. Robin could remember flinching away before. It seemed to relax his father.

He pulled himself out of his memories long enough to say "goodnight."

When the door shut and locked, the nightlight in the corner came on.

If the door locking hadn't made his heart race, he would have found the new addition to be considerate.

—

Batman was one of the most terrifying people on the planet, apparently. He didn't mind the title; he supposed it was an accurate characterization.

He hoped that he fit that characterization now. He imagined he did, because the five punks sitting before him looked as if they were about to cry. Both Bruce Wayne and Batman got a sense of satisfaction from that.

But the Bruce part of him would get more satisfaction from the death of all five of those heathens. The Batman part of him wanted to get the police to do their jobs for once.

Both parts of him felt wretched hatred.

"What," he said quietly to his companion, "should I do with them?"

Superman crossed his arms. "I won't look if there's something you would like to accomplish."

Batman swallowed. "_What_ should I do with them?"

Superman tapped one finger against his bicep. "I think the League would love to deal with them." He paused. "Would you be willing to trust the League with the details?"

He thought about it. Thought hard, glaring at the vermin in the ground, nudging one with his foot, clutching a bat-a-rang in his hand. "Yes. Yes I would. Only if the League can keep it to themselves."

"You might not think so," Superman said, making his eyes glow with heat vision (which was almost as terrifying as Batman's own glare, or so he'd heard), "but you can trust us, you know."

Batman hmmed. Then, he knocked all five unconscious. Painfully.

—

Crying was expected. Laughing was not. It was because, Robin figured, that there was closure to something awful and normally, there were tears of joy.

Yet all he could do was laugh.

Being crazy perhaps had something to do with it. But that was fine.

Batman didn't look all that concerned. He just kind of held him, even though Robin's shaking shoulders were probably digging painfully into his ribs. He looked terribly concerned. Wally didn't look at Robin at all.

He didn't have the breath to ask why.

(And the laughter still came billowing out of his lungs. It was becoming painful.)

Ah. And there they were. The tears.

It was backwards, he supposed, but at least it happened. He was glad that at least a part of him still understood something about normalcy, even if it wasn't entirely correct.

—

Robin was lucid a little more than half the time. Which, Wally supposed, was better than just half the time, or less than half the time. Sometimes he would just sit and stare at nothing, looking at things that Wally couldn't, and probably didn't want, to see.

But Robin's lips could twitch. It wasn't even close to a smile. But there was a possibility that there was a smile in there somewhere.

"Would you like to play a game of chess?" Robin asked, flipping the black king between his fingers. He scratched at his neck, but looked at Wally.

(The shame of the situation was, he didn't know how to play chess.)

"Would you be willing to teach me?"

Robin's lips twitched but his face remained otherwise impassive. "Sure. Take a seat."

Robin was lucid a little more than half the time.

There were lots of pauses and stares, bits and pieces of information that made Wally squirm. But Robin was still Robin, maybe, somewhere in all that scar tissue.

But then again, maybe not.


End file.
